


Underpinning

by Anonymous



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gestalt Bond, Ghost Sex, M/M, Mild Power Play, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Difference, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, comfort kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 07:04:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17462870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Prowl isn’t alone in his own head anymore. His dreams are no exception.





	Underpinning

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Contains acting under unwanted emotional influence, and makes references to past forcible gestalt bonding and canon typical violence.

Prowl gasped, vocalizer fritzing with static, as the thick spike filling his valve slowly thrust in again—almost too thick, almost _too_ big to be compatible with his dimensions, despite the recent increase in height and weight that came with his reformatted frame, but the sensation of its size forcing his inner walls to lubricant and stretch to accommodate it had become burningly erotic—sliding deep inside, rubbing up against the sensor nodes, making them spark and _glow_. He finally lost the fight he had been waging to keep his body unresponsive and bucked up helplessly, following his partner’s motions. Prowl was overheating at the touches and the spiking and the things the other mech kept saying. He bit down on his bottom lip, swallowing down the urge to moan and beg for more. He had to remain in control at all times. He wouldn’t _beg_. Above him, he could tell the large mech was smiling indulgently behind his facemask.

Industrial strength plating typical of a heavy labor frame fluffed out for a moment, thin wisps of steam issuing from the gaps before settling shut again.

“Relax,” Scrapper coaxed. He punctured the word with another gentle thrust, another bolt of pleasure.

Prowl shook his head, trembling.

“Please. Relax.” Scrapper palmed the streaks of green and purple paint transfers decorating the inside of Prowl’s thighs, like he was touching himself. Under his black and white hood, the piece of the combiner Prowl housed muttered and strained towards its reflection in the other mech in a way that made Prowl’s processor spin. “I really wasn’t sure at first, but look at you. You’re one of mine after all,” Scrapper’s hand rose up and stroked his hip. On his lap, with his legs spread and his covers retracted to bare his interfacing hardware to the air, Prowl squirmed. His doors sleeked down. Scrapper crooned. “Not gonna hurt ya, Prowl.”

“I’ve seen the reports on your work. I don’t believe you.”

“Orders were orders,” Scrapper replied.

“And you six took great _joy_ in fulfilling them,” Prowl said. He had the certainty of somebody who unfortunately been acquainted with their minds in depth. Regret wasn’t a factor to them when it came to what they had done.

“I was a Decepticon. A good soldier. The mechs I slagged weren’t team. _You’re_ team,” Scrapper retorted cheerfully. “And don’t tell me you don’t understand the satisfaction of a well-executed plan falling into place, mister Autobot High Command. Aren’t you all about logic? Where’s the logic in hurting myself?”

Prowl struggled to think of a response to that when Scrapper rumbled his engine pleasantly and enthusiastically and the vibrations make him vent, spreading his legs wider so he could take Scrapper deeper. His head tipped back slightly. “I’m not one of you…”

“If that’s what you tell yourself. Doesn’t make it less true.”

“I am _not_!” Prowl protested, anger kindling for a brief instance but his tone was distracted. The continued warmth and the sympathetic, brisk affection of a kindred spirit radiating from the other mech felt traitorously good. It made pulling away—or telling Scrapper to get out of his head like he instinctively felt he ought to, not that Scrapper had anywhere else to go, and why was he thinking about Scrapper going anywhere anyway—an awful idea to consider. He craved the warmth, regardless of who it was coming from or if he even liked the other mech.

“We wouldn’t take just any ol’ mech as our boss. And I know what it’s like, being the boss.” Scrapper nuzzled his facemask against his cheek. He was pushing in and out of Prowl at a steady pace and Prowl rocked to keep up with him, bumper nudging against his chest. Prowl arced his back. Lubricant dripped down his thighs, hot and slick. “It’s a lot of pressure. C’mon, Prowl. Don’t you want to stop thinking? I’ve already told you, let go of control this one time. It’ll be nice. Loosen you up. I can take the reins.”

“I can’t,” Prowl muttered.

“Why not?”

“Because I _have_ to be in control. I don’t trust anybody else to do things r-right, I can’t trust anybody, there’s too much at stake—”

Scrapper tsked in disapproval, thumbing Prowl’s red headlights. “Not right now. You can take a night off. Plus, if _Hook_ couldn’t find enough faults with my technique to complain about it, I think we’re in the clear.”

Prowl reset his optics.

Then, despite himself, he laughed. “Hook _does_ have astronomically high standards for everybody he works with.”

“One time Scavenger got Hook’s tow line tied in a massive knot around a railing while he, Mixmaster, and Hook were ‘facing, totally forgot how to untie it afterwards so he was stuck for hours and Hook spent days gripping at him about it, the rusty fussbucket,” Scrapper recalled and leaned forward to firmly bump his forehead against Prowl’s forehead. “Yeah. You should ask Mix ‘bout that, Scavenger would be too embarrassed to tell you. It’d be funny. Now, you want to be good for me and let me take charge?”

He relaxed. If there was no consequences to this, no calculations to be crunched through. That _did_ sound nice. “Alright. Go ahead.”

It felt so good, so _right_ to give in. Let his thoughts blank and let Scrapper take charge.

Scrapper touched his cheek plating. “I want to help you.”

Prowl held onto his shoulders, hissing under his ventilations as Scrapper leaned back and pumped into him vigorously. A strong hand rested on the small of his back to support him, the other straying down to hold his upper arm. His calipers cycled down on the fullness lodged in him and sensors delightedly reported back intriguing textures and a blunt head hitting his ceiling node repeatedly. Scrapper grunted. Sparks jumped between them, metal clanging together. The world had blurred into something indistinct and vague outside of Scrapper’s large spike sending charge singing through his circuitry and his optics flaring bright blue. Pleasure built up in waves, pooling sweetly inside him and Prowl’s gratitude bled through to Scrapper for giving him this.

Something that wasn’t sharp and painful.

“You’re safe. There’s no enemies here. You deserve to feel nice,” Scrapper assured him.

“Mmm!”

That wasn’t supported by historical evidence, but Prowl was willing to play along at this point.

“Yes, a-ah, Scrapper, keep doing that, _please_ keep doing that!” Prowl tried to encourage him to speed up his thrusts by grinding hard against him but Scrapper held him still. He wasn’t moving without Scrapper permitting him to. He had no control. A line of oral lubricant dribbling out of the corner of his mouth, he slumped against his chest while Scrapper adjusted the angle of his hips to meet his spike, and let Scrapper claim him at the same deliberate pace and it went on and on and on until, doors spasming and cooling fans whirring, he dug his fingers in and crashed over the edge into a blissful overload.

The world went out of focus.

Scrapper pulled him up off his length, and rubbed circles soothingly onto his back. “Liked that?”

Sprawled over his lap like a used fragtoy, Prowl purred his engine in an affirmative.

“You’re going to take good care of my boys, ain’t you, Prowl? I worry about them. I didn’t want to leave them like I did,” Scrapper asked. He fingered the joints of doorwing to shoulders. He scratched at the sensor panels and sent feedback crackling and tingling to his circuitry network, just like Prowl wanted him to. Lost in the lingering afterglow, Prowl’s response was a burst of static. His doors flicked up and down.

“They need direction. They need you.”

Prowl nodded dreamily, not registering nor caring what Scrapper was talking about in the slightest so long as he could persuade the Constructicon to mess up his finish and to plug him up full again and again and take away the need to worry about anything.

Or let him lick his shoulder wheels. Mmm, those shoulder tires were tempting. Prowl liked them. He wanted to express his appreciation for them.

As if he could hear Prowl’s wishes, Scrapper lifted him up, valve swollen and eager, and eased his spike inside him again. Prowl yelped and his optics sparked at the edges, fighting to comply with Scrapper and keep his legs apart for access instead of clamping them shut. He was loosened up: but that length was still a stain to re-align his channel around until Scrapper could hilt most of it inside. Scrapper was gentle about that too. The pain swiftly drained away. He licked his lips and pressed his mouth against the angled planes of Scrapper’s facemask. He tasted oil and warehouse grit. He tasted energon. He tasted a dead mech. Scrapper made a happy gasp and started bouncing him up and down. Prowl scrabbled at Scrapper, searching for transformation seam lines, wanting to peel back the boundaries of both of their armors and crawl into him, find safety in unity, erase any hint of separation, any hint of the individual, their thoughts and sparks and selves mixing together just like the—like the bond wanted.

When climax thrilled through him, he overloaded with Scrapper’s name on his lips.

 

Prowl’s internal alarm went off.

Blue optics switching on, Prowl stared at the grey ceiling. He’d laid down on his berth furious, a splitting headache throbbing in his temples from his tac-net and the day’s events and sorting out Optimus’ latest foolishness and he’d expected to wake up in an equally foul mood. His recharge was unhappy and fitful at the _best_ these days, unless it was one of the occasions he surrendered to the Constructicons’ whining to come recharge with them. He’d stopped hoping for a peaceful recharge cycle by the early stages of the war. There wasn’t a reason for the pattern to change now since this was one of the nights he recharged alone.

But now he was awake.

And he was feeling… fine. Refreshed and calm.

As if he had gotten a sound cycle of rest.

Strange.

Then as Prowl sat up, there was a squelching noise. Metal peeled wetly off the slab. Prowl looked down and a sigh gusted out of him. He pinched his nasal ridge between two fingers. He sat in a small puddle of lubricant, leaking out from behind his closed valve cover. And his spike was half-pressurized in its housing. Ah. Damnit. What was he, a newbuilt who had freshly onlined their interface protocols?

The washracks. Thank Primus he had private washracks to attend to this minor problem in, after he wiped off the berth. And thank Primus he had turned down his big, green idiots’ invitation to stay in their quarters tonight. The Constructicons were at times a bunch of filthy-minded mechs. A randy dream in the middle of the night would have resulted in them catching onto the ripples of his arousal, waking him up and shamelessly badgering Prowl to let them put those wandering hands to work blowing off steam. 

Something niggled at him, some details of what he had dreamed about attempting to stick.

But they drifted away.

Prowl shook his helm. He swung his legs over the edge of the berth and went hunting for a cleaning cloth. The tactician made no connection between his forgotten but pleasant dream, and how he couldn’t stop accidentally calling the Constructicons ‘Scrapper’ for the rest of the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to write something quick where Prowl gets treated nicely.
> 
> As a side note, this isn’t the ‘real’ Scrapper. It’s the leftover ghost data/memories of him floating around in the gestalt bond that seemed to be haunting Prowl during the Spike Witwicky arc.


End file.
